These Things Take Backbone
by Nyxierose
Summary: In which Sansa decides to take control of her life, a cross-country roadtrip follows, and a bodyguard gets dragged along for the ride.


On a hot night in the middle of July, Sansa Stark officially decides to take control of her life again.

This is no petty action - she's been a pawn since she was old enough to know what that meant, maybe even longer. So goes the life of the pretty daughter of a political family. She shudders to think what might've happened if her parents had pushed this kind of existence on Arya - although, come to think of it, they _did_ and failed spectacularly. Last time she checked, Arry was living in San Francisco, not speaking to any of the family, and lying about her age.

Sansa, though - Sansa has been the perfect one for so long. That's how she got here, isn't it? Acted charming at parties, learned how to play her innocence to her advantage, fell in love with a pretty boy from a good family and loved him until it all went to hell. How was she supposed to know what he'd do to her once she was "safe" within his family's protection? It's not even the bruises and scars that bother her - it's the fact that she hasn't been allowed to do a damn thing she wants for the last year and a half. Well, she's finally had enough of that, and it's high time to take back her existence.

She's planned this for weeks, drawn a little map of the summer house and a path least likely to attract attention. There's a security system, of course, but one of the controls for it is right next to the back door she intends to use and she knows how to disarm it thanks to one of the Lannister bodyguards. The nice one, she supposes she could say, but that's not much of an honor considering how the rest of them treat her. The one with a scarred face and haunted eyes who slipped her a piece of paper that might save her life and didn't ask for anything in return. She owes him, though - she's well aware she owes him. She's just not sure what.

At two fifteen in the morning, when she's fairly certain the rest of the household is asleep, Sansa grabs her bag and takes off. Or at least that's the plan. Sneaking across the house isn't much of a challenge, but she's halfway through entering the passcode on the security box when she feels callused fingers wrap around her wrist. "What-"

"It's alright, girl," says a low voice she recognizes instantly. "I'm not going to stop you."

"Then get your hand off me," she says in a sassier tone than she plans, and he does. "Now, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing out of your way. It's just… I've been thinking we could help each other."

"How so?" Her voice is cautious now, and she dares not turn to look at him.

"You're running away. Don't try to deny it - I've known for two weeks thanks to that favor you asked, and before you freak out, I know how to keep a secret. I, on the other hand, need to get the fuck out of here."

"Why would I want to help you?" Against her better judgment, or what little remains of it, Sansa thinks of how Cersei would handle the situation and attempts to emulate the approach. Despite her general dislike of her would-be mother-in-law, there are some lines a girl has to cross to get what she wants, and apparently this is one of them. "I don't owe you anything."

"And I'm not saying you do," he replies, trying to calm her down. "But I've left my resignation in the queen bitch's office, effective immediately, and I was trying to decide how to flip them off in my wake. I was thinking of making off with a family heirloom or two, maybe some precious files, but if there's anything that'd get them into a twist, it'd be me vanishing the same night as their little whore."

"I'm no such thing," she snaps.

"You're getting married to Asshole Junior in two weeks because it saves your precious family from a legal investigation that won't end well for anyone who's ever met you. Sounds like the same thing to me."

"Get to the point. What do you actually want from me?"

"Well, I figure a little trophy girl like yourself might get lonely on a road trip, _and_ I have access to the garage. You'll note I didn't give you that passcode."

"And how am I to know your intentions are honorable?" She turns, staring at him - in the half-light, she can only see the outline of his face. In another life, she thinks, he could've been beautiful.

"In case you've forgotten, little bird, I'm the only person in this fucked-up house who's never tried to hurt you. I don't plan to change that."

"Then we have a deal." She wonders if he can tell how nervous she is, how strange this situation is getting. And to think that five minutes ago she'd planned on walking to a bus stop. At least she doesn't have to do this alone anymore. "What do we do from here?"

"You finish entering that code, I get us into the garage, and we make off with a Cadillac and get the fuck out of New England. Sound good?"

She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it for a heartbeat. "Perfect."


End file.
